


jumping at shadows

by strandedAeronaut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Paranoia, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Wakes & Funerals, but like right before when everything sucks, kind of major character death but everyone knows ana isn't dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedAeronaut/pseuds/strandedAeronaut
Summary: Jesse had been to a lot of funerals, caused a lot more, and unofficially considered himself something of an unfortunate connoisseur by happenstance. Ana’s was classy, elegantly planned, well attended, and just as depressing as any other he’d had to sit through.





	jumping at shadows

**Author's Note:**

> i realized after writing this that the cemetery i had in my head was very american in size and layout so sorry about that. im not sure where ana’s funeral would even be since they didn’t have a body to bury but i’d guess near the swiss base since that seems to have been the main hq. i've also never actually been to a funeral (luckily) so i may have gotten some stuff wrong, sorry
> 
> thanks for reading <3

  Jesse had been to a lot of funerals, caused a lot more, and unofficially considered himself something of an unfortunate connoisseur by happenstance. Ana’s was classy, elegantly planned, well attended, and just as depressing as any other he’d had to sit through.

  The weather was cold and annoyingly sunny, not even having the good sense to rain to match the mood. Gabriel had started a fight with Jack, more angry than Jesse had ever seen him before. Reinhardt had been far too quiet. And Fareeha… Fareeha had kept her chin up, back straight, expression stony. She’d put on a brave face, gracefully accepting condolences, until Gabriel had thrown the first punch and she’d shouted at the two of them, dressed them down and kicked them out.

  Jesse laid low during the wake, leaning against a wall, watching all the mourners mill about. He watched them talk quietly, sharing stories and talking about how they’d met her, how she had been a fine captain and a great woman, and how she’d come into their lives and changed them for the better. She had a knack for it, she really did…

  He watched them talk, and a suspicious little voice in the back of his mind kept a running commentary, _how long did you know her, who are you affiliated with, isn’t it convenient that you were in the area when you heard about the funeral, are those real tears or are you faking, who among you is innocent, who among you is a Talon-aligned bastard, who-_

  That wasn’t helping him, right now. He told the voice to shut up, and it did, for a moment, until it crawled its way back in, so quietly and gradually that he couldn’t remember if it ever left. It spread its black roots through his thoughts and took over, asking him awful, awful questions, ones he doesn’t want to know the answers to.

_Gabriel’s been acting very strange, lately._

  It’s stress.

_Is it?_

  Yes.

_Can you be so sure?_ _Can you?_

  He couldn’t.

  Time for a change of scenery. He pushed himself off the wall, aiming to go for a walk. He stayed on the fringes of the small gathering, avoiding the clusters of people standing around holding drinks and little paper plates and making awkward conversations. Fareeha met his eye, looking concerned and not a little tired, but he shook his head, turning away. He was sorry to leave her to deal with all this, but right now…

_Right now I need a drink._

  No he _didn’t._ He pushed the thought away, shoved it down. He’d been teetotal for fourteen years, and he did not need a relapse now of all times, not when Talon is the worst it had ever been, he needed to stay on his guard, he needed to be vigilant, he needed to keep a weather eye out to protect his friends and family…

  But it _hurt._ There was a hole in his chest where his sense of safety used to be, until it was carved out and buried with Ana Amari. When he’d been recruited he’d found a home in the people around him, in the people who trusted one another and trusted him, even when they shouldn’t have, because he was a rowdy, angry, pessimistic little shit fresh out of the desert. But they’d been patient with him anyway; Gabriel had given him an anchor and a purpose, Ana had given him safety and stability, a place where he could drop his armor of spite and bravado and cry like the lost, scared kid he was. He had trusted them implicitly, unconditionally, but now… Now no one trusts anyone, not like they used to. Talon has poisoned them, has everyone jumping at shadows and afraid of nothing.

_Just one. Just one, just for today._

  One drink is too many. He can’t let himself slip like that.

  He kept walking, away from the people, out of the funeral home and into the yard, across the manicured grass and among the graves. He lit a cigarette. His shoulders lost the tenseness he hadn’t realized had gathered there. Graveyards are simple, and in a complicated world, the dead make sense. The dead do not whisper, they do not scheme, and they can’t have secret affiliations because they’re dead. He read dates on headstones as he passed. March 5, May 25, June 7, June 12, July 9, July 31, August 30. It was quiet, and the wind rustled the leaves on the trees. He heard the light rasp of the leaves of a bouquet of flowers brushing against the stone they lay on, and he leaned over to read it. Kenneth Silvio Aarle, born September 13, died eighty-seven years later on September 21. Eight days after his birthday. Close enough to be rough but not close enough to be truly ironic. Good for him to make it that far, he thought idly.

  Ana hadn’t. She’d been fifty-four.

  He sighed, and passed a huge oak tree. The leaves above stirred in the cold wind.

  Jack had left her behind, Gabriel had said. He didn’t deserve to come to honor her memory. Jack had argued that he’d never leave her to die, and Gabriel had laughed, all harsh and disbelieving, and said he was lying to himself. I would have fought tooth and nail to get her back, he said, and Jack had said he’d tried to get her to pull back, and Gabriel had grabbed his lapel and growled _you should have tried harder._ Jack had sworn at Gabriel, and he’d decked him for his troubles. Reinhardt had run over and separated them, and that’s when Fareeha snapped and kicked the two of them out.

  He dropped the cigarette on the path and ground it out with his heel. Jesse had never known Gabriel to get that angry. Frustrated, sure, irritated, absolutely, but livid? Not once. He’d sure had a lot of reasons to, over the years, most of them because of Jesse, but he would just furrow his brow and take a deep breath and come at the problem calmly and logically. Stress wasn’t the half of it, Jesse suspected.

  The wind blew a little harder, biting through his suit, the nice one that fit well with the blood stain on the left sleeve he couldn’t quite get out that fortunately wasn’t noticeable unless you looked really hard. He pulled the shirt sleeve up to scratch his tattoo, watching the grass ripple in the gale. The large field was mostly flat and framed with trees and brush, and the funeral home sat on a low hill above him. This was a really bad place to stand if there were snipers around, he thought absently. Lots of open space and no cover except for a few trees, and lots of places to hide at range. _Then get going_ **_right now,_ ** said his gut, and he remembered the pattern of deaths in Overwatch’s ranks; Gerard, tactician in charge of dealing with Talon, Ana, Morrison’s right hand who knew everything he did and a little bit more. It wouldn’t be a stretch to add McCree, Reyes’s unofficial right hand and all-around dangerous, meddling bastard-

  He started walking faster, back the way he came, and something deep and instinctive howled **_run_ ** so he did, jinking back and forth on the path, waiting for the resounding crack of the shot, for the feeling of the impact as the bullet hit his back, which felt so open and vulnerable- He broke into a sprint at the final stretch, nearing the funeral home, and remembered as he got to the door that he didn’t actually know for certain that there was a sniper and this was all kind of stupid and charging into a funeral like there was a real threat would be a little disruptive, so he slipped inside quietly and put his back to a wall. His heart pounded in his throat, and he took a moment to slow down. No one seemed to have noticed.

  Jeez. Was this where he was going? Jumping at shadows, suspecting everyone he met of subterfuge, running from nothing? What was next, keeping three separate datapads and changing the passcodes every day, like Reyes was starting to?

_That’s not a bad idea,_ a reasonable sounding thought mused. _You should really be more careful with your files._

_I am perfectly capable of keeping my data secure, thank you very much,_ he thought back, and smacked his forehead when he realized what he’d done. Talking to himself. Really.

  He needed a break. He needed a drink. He _did not_ need a drink. Fuck.

  Reinhardt wandered over, holding a wineglass that would be comically tiny in his hand under any other circumstances. He looked a little lost, and more than a little upset.

  “Hey,” Jesse offered.

  “Hello,” Reinhardt said, sounding subdued.

  They stood for a minute, looking at each other in silence.

  “Yep,” Jesse said.

  “Yes,” Reinhardt replied.

  Jesse moved to leave, but saw Fareeha heading towards them. “Jesse, there you are. I thought you had left.”

  “I, uh. Just went out for a walk.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, stopping in front of him and definitely smelling the cigarette smoke hanging off his clothes. “Are you all right?”

  “Just fine… just fine. How are you?”

  She sighed, leaning against the wall. “Managing. Wish Jack or Gabriel could be here, but. Well.”

  “Yeah.” Just another reminder of how their family was falling apart, as if either of them needed it.

  Reinhardt placed a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned in as he wrapped her in a hug. Reinhardt always gave the best hugs.

  “We should get going. The service is going to start soon,” Fareeha said, muffled against Reinhardt’s chest. He released her, giving her a solid pat on the back, and they made their way through the crowd to the doors.

  Jesse went to follow them, but stopped. He turned to his right. The corner bar was empty and uncrowded aside from the morose looking bartender, who looked up as Jesse took interest.

  “Can I help you?”

  “...Yeah. Can I get a whiskey? Neat.”


End file.
